


Hero

by 308



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Awesome Irene, Drabble, F/M, Headcanon, Karachi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 10:29:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6654403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/308/pseuds/308
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock comes to rescue Irene Adler in Karachi, but things don't go exactly according to his plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hero

**Author's Note:**

> Beware: I've never written anything, much less in English. However, I've been with this 'what if' idea in my head for a while. This is based on the creators' comments that, Sherlock went to save Irene and she turned tables on him as soon as she could. So I pretty much just went from there. There's not much insight into Irene's pov, because I decided to focus on Sherlock's.  
> Oh, not only English isn't my first language, but I'm not really sure what expressions sound more British, and which ones might sound too American. I apologise for that. Also, I obviously haven't had any proof reading on this, cause, as I said, I'm not a writer. I am, actually, an artist and what I really do is create some Adlock fanarts for this fandom, such as this: http://alexpernau.tumblr.com/image/139262128711 So, if you're disappointed with my writing, try my art :v

Dead bodies on the floor. Splashes of red fresh blood on his clothes, dripping from his face. Sherlock pulls the fabric covering his face down, and inhales deeply, catching his breath. Before turning to Irene behind him, he surveys the surroundings to be sure there’s no one left. Finally satisfied that they’ll have a few more moments without immediate danger to follow the rest of his intricate rescue plan, he smiles, clearly very pleased with himself. He puts his arrogant mask in place and clears his throat. “I hope you don’t take this as a sign that I'm interested in you…”

“Oh, mister Holmes, I wouldn’t _dare_. I’m _sure_ you were just passing by.” Sherlock hears her deep voice, exactly the same as he remembered it. He could feel her mischievous smile through her tone. 

He’s quite impressed - just minutes ago, she was kneeling to face death. He knew the men in the terrorist cell did their best to strip her of her pride and diminish her as they could before the execution. When he saw her being taken to the center of the compound, she wasn’t desperate. The Woman had had her head up, her eyes dry. But she hadn’t faced any of her enemies in the eye - she wasn’t defiant or angry, as he would have expected her to be. He had realised she had given up. At the time, it stirred rage and a strange pain in him, directed both to the terrorists and to himself. Now, however, he felt a weight being lifted from his chest. 

As her words were processed by his brain, he felt himself open and close his mouth without finding a sharp reply. His extended silence made him feel even more awkward. Why couldn’t he come up with a bitter comeback? Definitely, Irene Adler was back. Well, that was fast. He clears his throat again and forced his expression into one of indifference and contempt as he turns around to face her. 

“Oh, c’mon! I just saved your life!” His mask falls with a thud. Irene has a gun pointed right to his head. 

“Oh, poor thing. You do realise you’re just cleaning your own mess.” Her smile reaches her eyes, so sharp he almost forgets his surroundings. They could have been in her Belgravia flat. “Now, be a dear and put your hands up behind your head.”

He looks at her, her hijab already pulled back and her hair framing her face. Instead of following her orders, he frowns and, annoyed, opens his mouth to complain.

He doesn’t have the chance, though, and hears the shot before he realises what happened. Irene had shot the ground right beside his feet. Actually, dangerously too close to his left foot. He looks down, and up at her again.

“Mr. Holmes.” She says, simply. Her smile doesn't even falter. She could have said ‘do as i say’, so commanding her tone was. 

Sherlock sighs. Ever the dominatrix. He slowly complies, raising his hands and sighing and frowning to make his annoyance clear. “Why do you always have to be so _difficult…_ ” He growls. 

“You flatter me.” Irene dismisses his comment, smiles knowingly and slowly approaches him. - As you must also be aware, we don’t have much time. - She reaches for the fabric of his cloak with her free hand and raises it a bit. “Be a good boy now, and strip for me. 

She pulls the piece of cloth higher, over his head and, in his brief shock, he lets her take it off of him and drop it on the floor. Only then the meaning of her words sink into him “Wait. What?” Off guard, again. He glances at her firm grip on the gun. Her finger’s on the trigger and the safety is definitely off. How absolutely insufferable can this woman be? She might actually shoot him.

“Hush now,” Irene aims the gun firmly and shakes it to further make a point. “You’ve gotten naked for much less, Sherlock. Undress for me. Now.”

“Irene, what are…?” Sherlock stares at her in confusion, starting to sound obviously embarrassed. Logically, it makes no sense. He has indeed been naked in front of other people for much less - out of spite, for example. But this situation is getting completely out of hand. 

He jumps mid motion while taking his shirt off - another bullet hole on the ground just too damn close to his feet. 

“As much as I enjoy foreplay, I don’t have all day, dear. Trousers.”

He frowns, holds back a reply that would likely get him shot and takes undoes his trousers, pushing them down and letting them fall on the floor. He kicks off his boots and steps out of the piece of clothing. He stares at her eyes defiantly. Whatever her plan is, he can take it. Or so he hopes.

“Underwear too. Off.”

He stares at her for a couple of seconds. His eyes widen despite his best efforts to look indifferent. 

“Your silence is making me believe you’d rather I took them off for you, Mr. Holmes. Shall I assist you?”

For the briefest of seconds, Sherlock feels panic, but just as quickly it is gone, replaced by pure annoyance. He could understand she wanted revenge for what he did, but this is ridiculous. He sighs, grabs the hem of his boxers and pushes it down to the mid of his thighs. It falls on its own from there and once it has pooled around his feet, he kicks it forward. It lands near Irene’s feet. He straightens his back and shoulders and stares right back at her, completely naked. He recomposes himself. “Now, Miss Adler, would you care to explain why I’m naked in the middle of the desert?”

Irene is being far from discrete. While he stares at her eyes, she deliberately lets her gaze slowly wander over his body. All of it, and very, very slowly. She smiles wickedly and her pupils dilate. Not bad, as far as men go. She looks right back into his eyes so he can see it. She raises her eyebrows in acknowledgement of her conclusions.

He notices her reaction and, to his own surprise, feels his face a bit hotter. Is he seriously blushing? Oh, god. His gaze wavers for a second, suddenly uneasy, unsure of his own reactions. With more effort than usual, he manages to keep a straight face.

Irene silently savours the moment. “My turn.” She immediately starts pulling off her cloak in one swift motion. She’s left in a thin, nearly transparent undershirt - clearly no bra underneath it. Then, without hesitation she pushes her skirt down, revealing her bare legs and her underwear. Her aim on Sherlock returns steady as soon as she’s done. 

By now, Sherlock is beginning to freak out . His jaw drops and he manages to close it right away, but his mouth opens again. He feels a sudden unknown urge to hide his body, but makes a huge effort to stand straight. “Wh-What are you doing?” Damn, stuttering again!

She sees his discomfort and nervousness, and relishes those few seconds in which he clearly panicked, but didn’t ran away. Oh, how absolutely delicious it is to see the great detective persona falling apart because of her. She takes a couple of steps towards him, closing the distance, looking straight at him. Her eyes are hungry. She sees him swallow.

She stops right in front of him, holding his eyes on hers. He can tell she noticed him breathing faster. 

His mind is incessantly calculating all the possibilities and outcomes of his current situation. But he has an unknown variable, though. Irene Adler is completely off the charts. He can’t figure out what she will do to him - or maybe he can, and that’s exactly what’s holding him in place and at the same time making him panic. It doesn’t help that Irene begins to bend and kneel down right in front of him. She’s too close. He has to do, to say something or…

Her eyes kept trained on his all the time till she lowered herself to a kneeling position. Whatever he was thinking would happen, however, wasn’t that. Irene simply lowered her arm, picked up the clothes on the floor and got up again, quickly and gracefully. She keeps her gaze on his eyes the whole time, and could swear she saw his expression become puzzled, confused and then… disappointed.

He released a breath that was caught in his throat. How long had he been holding his breath?

She steps back, with the clothes in one arm and the other extended, still pointing the gun at Sherlock. “Oh, dear, I hope you didn’t take this as a sign I was interested in you.” Irene opens a wide, devious grin. She had, however ignored his boxers on the floor.

She then starts putting his clothes on. “I’ll need a male disguise to get away from here.” She explains, because he apparently hadn’t been able to figure out the most obvious explanation for all she was doing. Sherlock was still staring dumbfounded at her, as if trying to catch up, a crease between his eyebrows.

He blinks a couple of times and turns his head slightly, processing her words. Oh, he was thinking so slowly, caught completely off guard, and it was amazing to watch. The situation finally dawns at him. “Oh.” His face seems to fall a little bit, his shoulders slightly dumped. He then looks at the ground. Only his underwear is left there at her feet. “You didn’t had to make me strip off my boxers.”

She’s already covering her face with the veil, but he swears he can see the fabric move with another of those wicked smiles. She doesn’t answer anything, but he feels - no, he knows - she calculated it all and did it on purpose. Damn the Woman!

“Always a pleasure.” She says with the most Irene Adler voice ever. He’s angry and annoyed, but seeing her change the game so easily and sound again as herself makes him feel warm and satisfied inside. He’s surprised by those thoughts, and, being unable to find an acceptable explanation, decides to push them aside.

Irene is already far away, having dressed up in his costume. She opens the door of the jeep parked at the compound, pulling the corpse inside it out of the door. Before jumping in, she turns to Sherlock, who’s still standing at the same spot, as if paralyzed, looking at her. “Mr. Holmes.” She acknowledges him, before hopping in and starting the engines. She maneuvers deftly and accelerates, disappearing out of the compound with not another word.

Sherlock stays where he stands, still at a loss, for a few more seconds after the car disappears from view. He then lowers his gaze to his underwear on the floor. That suddenly pulls him back to reality: he’s stark naked and still in real danger. His elaborate escape plan from now on was useless, the Woman gone to do things her own way - as usual. 

For a moment he thought he was going to become very angry, but realizes too late that he’s actually grinning wide. Oh god. He coughs, forces his face to frown and grabs his boxers off the floor. 

.

As he sips the tasteless tea served to him in the airplane, he regrets not having asked for plain water. He’s clean, shaved and dressed in his usual tailored dark shirt. He had had a lot of trouble to get out of the compound in time. Moreover, it was considerably more difficult to stage Irene Adler’s death without her help. It took him one extra day to take care of it. It had to be perfect, for her safety and his peace of mind. Now he had to come up with an excuse to why he delayed his return from his case in the countryside. So much extra work… of course he should have seen it coming. Irene would never simply obey.

He then allows himself time to think on how she overturned the situation. Now, with all of it over, he expected to feel a bit of rage towards her. Instead, he finds himself smiling again at the thought. For a while, Sherlock was sure he had broken her, destroyed her. It didn’t leave his head. So much so that he made sure to track her, to know where she was, what she was doing. But, oh, he was wrong. As always, she acted in ways he could never predict. Irene Adler is definitely not broken, nor destroyed. He feels a bit ashamed for thinking that he would have the power to do such a thing to her. ‘Of course not.’ He scolds himself.

For a second, another thought enters his head uninvited, and it makes him frown. Had she stuck with him, he’d have made sure she had a new reliable identity, a safe route out of the country and… ‘No, stop.’ Sherlock cuts short this train of thought, focusing on what he’d just realised about her. 

She’s Irene Adler. Unpredictable, incredibly intelligent, dangerous and merciless. A small grin returns to his lips. She was way more capable of taking care of herself than Sherlock would have ever been. What foolish thought, looking at it now. The idea that he - or anyone else for that matter - would barge into enemy territory, save and ship to safety the one Irene Adler. It sounds ridiculous now. 

His smile widens, he laughs discreetly to himself. “Irene Adler” He whispers despite himself. She’s way more powerful than he expected anyone to be. Suddenly he feels incredibly happy for having come to her aid, even if not all things went according to plan. He can’t even begin to imagine if he hadn’t interfered - a world without her... Meeting Irene Adler changed fundamentally the way he saw other people, and, most of all, himself. His admiration grows. His heart races a bit, aching in a strange and unknown way. He draws a breath, and allows himself a few more thoughts on her. 

There’s no trace of doubt, he thinks. She is The Woman.


End file.
